It started innocently enough. One episode after another, just a small escape from a long day. But soon, the hours blurred. Your room became a cozy cave, snacks within arm’s reach. Days folded into nights as characters’ lives flashed before your eyes, each cliffhanger a siren calling you back.

Work, homework, or plans with friends became distant echoes—I was tired. The ambition, once bright and buzzing, dimmed under the warm, hypnotic glow of the screen. Time was devoured, slowly but surely, like a Netflix marathon without end.

And yet, there was a strange comfort in this indulgence—a fleeting happiness in surrendering to Sloth, even as it whispered, softly, that you could do so much more.